


Night Out

by AnonyMouseHatesCaptcha



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Fluff, M/M, Social Awkwardness
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2012-02-12
Updated: 2012-02-12
Packaged: 2017-10-31 00:34:53
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,735
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/337959
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AnonyMouseHatesCaptcha/pseuds/AnonyMouseHatesCaptcha
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>John is social and outgoing. Sherlock is not.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Night Out

**Author's Note:**

> Prompt fill http://sherlockbbc-fic.livejournal.com/15638.html?thread=86881302#t86881302

The pub was the type of place a group of friends could turn into 'their regular spot'. It was nothing special, not in location nor design, but it had the sort of warmth and casual environment, not to mention reasonable prices, that would no doubt appeal to the middle class crowd. Sherlock himself had no experience with such things, but he could easily see that at least half the pub patrons were regulars (familiarity with the bar staff, zero hesitation when choosing sitting arrangements), and all of them were in groups of at least three or more.

It wasn't the sort of place Sherlock would frequent himself, not without a cause anyway (and no, 'winding down with a pint after a long day' was not a probable cause in his opinion).

Coming to the pub was not his idea, obviously. Between the two of them, John was the one more inclined to the pedestrian types of entertainment. John often asked Sherlock to join him on his outings, and Sherlock always declined, citing one thing or another to better occupy his time. However, it was a Friday evening, and he'd been without a case for an entire week. No doubt fearing for the safety of their wallpaper, John had insisted that Sherlock would be joining him that evening. For once, he relented.

The place was crowded, and Sherlock had to push his way through a sway of people in order to follow John to their seats. He did not understand why a narrow passage seemed like the appropriate dancing spot for these people. There were other places for that sort of thing, where the risk of stepping on someone else's toes or spilling their drinks was minimized to those who knowingly chose to put themselves in harms way. Sherlock grumbled in annoyance. John for the most part seemed at ease, he was obviously already familiar with the place.

They reached a table near the far end wall. The table was reserved, and it was too big for just the two of them. Sherlock rolled his eyes when John pulled out his chair for him, but he was smiling. John sat next to him, wearing a sheepish grin.

"Are we expecting anybody else?" Sherlock said with a raised eyebrow.

"Just a couple of mates." He smiled at Sherlock who looked at him silently. "What? All these times I've been to the pub on my own, you don't think I actually went to be alone?"

"I didn't think you stayed alone for long, no."

"Oh, come on. You know that's not true. Not since…" John petted Sherlock's knee under the table. "Maybe for a good while before that? You weren't exactly making it easy for me. Can't blame a bloke for pining." He grinned. "I'm really glad you decided to come tonight. I've been looking forward to introducing you to a few people. And it's nice to go out, sometimes, not case related, isn't it?"

Before Sherlock could reply, he was cut off by an unfamiliar man's voice. "John!"

The man approaching them now was of average height, a fair complexion and a distinct gait that suggested he spent most of his time on his feet. He was trailed by a short brunette woman. The man beamed at John and thumped his shoulder as the latter stood to greet them.

"Hey Bill!" John smiled brightly at the man, "and Sheila, how have you been?" he turned to the short woman (girlfriend? No, wife.) "Sherlock, this is…"

"Bill Murray." The man grasped Sherlock's hand in a firm grip. "No relation."

Sherlock frowned. "To whom?"

Bill laughed, "I see what you mean, John." He turned back to Sherlock. "Blimey, it feels like meeting a celebrity. John won't shut up about you. Blog or otherwise." He turned to the woman. "This here is my lovely wife, Sheila."

Bill was a talkative fellow, lively in his body language and facial expressions. Sherlock knew Bill both went to University and had later served in Afghanistan together with John. He also knew that the former army medic played a large part in John's survival when he'd been wounded in action, and Sherlock felt an odd sense of gratitude for this man. That fact did not stop his eyes from glazing over when the conversation turned to the subject of Bill and Sheila's toddler and its antics.

He was busying himself with his mobile when John nudged him slightly with his foot. "What?" he said, not looking up from an intriguing app that had absolutely nothing to do with baby pictures.

"Sherlock, do you think can you give that thing a rest for a bit?" John said quietly in Sherlock's ear.

"Why?"

"Because you've been fiddling with it for the past half hour." He could practically feel John's frown aimed his way. "It's a bit rude, that's all. I know you don't generally care, but Bill's my friend and I want us to make a good impression."

Sherlock looked up from his mobile, a little perturbed by John's behavior. John and Bill were friends for years, why would he suddenly care about making impressions? Only he wasn't talking about himself, or even about Sherlock. He said "us".

Sherlock's phone made a soft "woosh" noise as his thumb slide over the screen, locking it.

John's smile was genuinely pleased. "Thanks." He said, and gave Sherlock a quick peck on the lips. "Now let me get you another beer. Round's on me, yeah?" He fleshed a smile at the table.

Sheila beamed happily at him. "You two are so cute together!"

Sherlock smiled politely back at her, and just about resisted the urge to roll his eyes when she made a second call to her babysitter.

A few minutes later, John returned with not only a round of drinks for the table, but another couple who followed closely after him, their own pints in hand. Another round of introductions revealed the couple to be Doctor and Doctor Stanley and Jennifer Spencer, both colleagues of John from the surgery. Office romance, dull. Sherlock wondered if it was appropriate to mention that Stanley was having an affair with his wife's sister at their present company. Probably not. John was likely to pout.

"-And this is Sherlock." John finished the last of the introductions.

"The famous Sherlock!" Jennifer cooed, "We've heard so much about you." She turned to her husband. "We both read John's blog, don't we, dear?"

Her husband shrugged, "Jen reads out loud. Err, you're the flatmate, right?"

"Boyfriend." John corrected, to Sherlock's surprise.

Yes, they've been sharing a flat for a little over a year at that point, and were more than just friends-and-flatmates for the last couple of months, a fact neither of them had ever tried to hide. But it was the first time John ever described Sherlock as his 'boyfriend', and Sherlock wasn't sure how he felt about the term. To him, John was just… John. He never thought to label him before. He couldn't deny he was pleasantly surprised, though. To others, the term implied a certain level of commitment and exclusivity. Sherlock didn't realize that was what they've had, aside from the friendship and the physical relationship. Sherlock decided he rather liked it.

The conversation drew on, ranging from fascinating topics such as their university days, to office gossip and back to discussing the habits of their children. The Spencer couple had an offspring as well, a spoiled little hellion by the sounds of it, which his parents had unwittingly deigned to name 'Mark'. Sherlock had smirked and thumped his boyfriend on his back when the latter took a large gulp from his beer just as that little tidbit of information was mentioned.

The table was now a bit too small for its number of occupants, a total of six people. Sherlock was starting to feel a little too crowded, and the endless chatter and the noise that came from too many people in too small a space was grating on his nerves. The large assortments of smells and visual stimulus hadn't helped much, either. He was beginning to feel the beginning of a truly spectacular headache.

He tapped his fingers on the table rhythmically, trying to concentrate on the tap-tap-tap to block out all the rest, and so he wasn't paying attention when Jennifer Spencer repeated her question for the third time.

He blinked, "What?" his tone came out more biting than he intended, and she was clearly taken aback at his harsh tone.

She stammered, "Oh… I was just wondering about something I read on John's blog –"

"Perhaps you should ask John, then?" he snapped.

Sherlock rose from his seat and made to push his way through the crowded room, pulling on his coat and scarf on the way. He heard John calling out to him, but did not pause.

Soon Sherlock was out of the door and making a shortcut through one of London's back allies. The pub was only a short distance from their flat and Sherlock appreciated the fresh air. Well, fresher air.

John jogged to close the distance created by Sherlock's head start and long legs. "Sherlock". He halted his partner with a grip on his forearm. "What the hell was that?"

"What was what?"

"You know what." John huffed in annoyance. "Was that really necessary?"

"Oh, John." Sherlock sighed. "I don't know how you can stand the everyday tedium. I admire your resilience, I do."

"Right," John rubbed his eyes. "You're bored. I get it. It's why I suggested we went out in the first place!" his voice grew more frustrated, "was stewing at home really that much more interesting?"

"Our sofa is much more comfortable."

"Sherlock!" John cried in exasperation and then took a deep breath, shaking his head.

After a beat, John started laughing.

"What?" Sherlock said in irritation. 

"'Mark Spencer'?" John said between giggles. "Do you think they'll name their second child 'Tesco'"?

A grin slowly spread across Sherlock's mouth before he too began to chuckle. He didn't resist when John snaked his arm around his waist to pull him closer.

The rest of the night was much more enjoyable, in Sherlock's opinion, although they never did return to the pub.

Sherlock found he better appreciated the alleyway behind it anyway, where there were no people besides John and himself, and no CCTV cameras to provide certain unmentionable parties with blackmail material.


End file.
